


Elegy

by masamune11



Category: Saint Seiya, Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: AU branching off from chapter 100 of LC, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Degel's anecdotes is null and void in this fic, Gen, Tales are told in unorderly manner, because I need Krest alive and well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the existence that holds them together; the one person who staves the madness away. She is the sun of their darkened sky, the spring of their eternally cursed city, the light they yearn to be—until she is no more. The knots that bind their sanity slowly unravel, leading him, to the path of madness and conquest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Days We Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, we (as in I and [beta-aquarii](http://beta-aquarii.tumblr.com)) have [this silly wonderful idea](http://rantoffireflies.tumblr.com/post/103385827273/scarlet-sting-nurse-me-kill-me) of: _"What if Degel is a bad guy? What if, instead of serving Athena, he chooses to pledge his allegiance to Poseidon, which actually makes the 18th century Holy War even more devastating?"_
> 
> ...Yeah, this is _that attempt_.
> 
> Also, please note that Degel's anecdote never happens in this fic--for plot reasons. The fic also branches of from chapter 100 or so in the original manga.
> 
> Since I have other parallel fics in process as well, I suppose I can not promise you guys steady updates... but here, enjoy.
> 
> Also, this fic is dedicated to you, [beta-aquarii](http://beta-aquarii.tumblr.com). You are a wonder to my tired imagination. Terima kasih, vielen Dank, and muchas gracias.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You may think yourself complex, ice cube,” the Scorpio saint snorts openly in-between their journey as he finishes telling stories about the city where he grows up. His blue eyes glint with amusement, akin to predatory, as his lips make a sharp smile, “but people like us who are willing to ditch normal everyday-life that other ordinary people have—we always have that reason to protect something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on July 5th, 2016, UTC+7 - Major grammar fix ~~I'm going to rewrite this in past tense, really.~~.
> 
> Still unbeta'ed.

 

**[in the near future]**

Bluegrad was still as impressive as he remembered.

The barren land was still unforgiving as he recalled. The wind blew chaotically, forcing every strand of his hair to dance in the air. The cold wave which it brought threatened to siphon what little heat and life that he tried to guard. Yet in such extreme environment, among the things that he could revel, people were still hoping—still _fighting_ —to live. It was in that exact passion and warmth, the knowledge of being together to protect their beloved city, that drew him here back again, to his second homeland. Driven by his thirst for knowledge at first, the young man grew to love and cherish the city that had embraced him in his adolescent years, the family who cared and taught him the ways of their people, and the warm companionship being offered without strings.

He might not be born as a Bluegradian, but Dégel would gladly lay his life to defend the people.

That being said, Dégel felt it was funny for Kardia _to actually understand_ his motivation. The man had thrown what little memories of his homeland when he accepted the invitation to train as Sanctuary's finest. If anything, to defend a homeland where he was groomed and taught was something that shouldn't be ingrained into his sense.

“You may think yourself complex, ice cube,” the Scorpio saint snorted openly in-between their journey as he finished telling things about his beloved city. His blue eyes glinted with amusement, akin to predatory, as his lips made a sharp smile, “but people like us who are willing to ditch normal everyday—life that other ordinary people have—we always have that reason to protect something. Anybody can understand such simple motivation.”

Dégel could not argue against his argument because what the brute said rang true; his underlying motivation generally revolved around the well-being of the people of Bluegrad. Therefore, it is logical for him to support Athena’s endeavor in preserving world peace, so that the people of Bluegrad may bask under his goddess' light.

The Aquarius saint eventually settled with a small, almost tender, smile, which surprisingly earned him a stupefied look from the Scorpio Saint. When Dégel asked whether there was something on his face (because admittedly, it was rare for him to see Kardia fluster; once he did however, it was mostly on Dègel's fault), said man defensively shrugged the question away, shirking away with another bouts of enemies and preys. The Aquarius saint choose not to pursue the matter, not when they grew closer towards their intended destination.

His stupefied look still haunted him as he faced the city that claimed him as hers. They were here in order to gain more insight about the Orihalcon which they were supposed to retrieve. But he knew that there would be something else, and part of him really wished that Kardia did not accompany him in the first place, knowing full well that _this would be the turning point of his life._ He was afraid that Kardia would be swept away, like every other things would be.

The other part of him wished that Kardia will _understand_ , however this struggle ended.

Either way, Dégel felt it in his bone that everything would change.

* * *

  **[rewind]**

* * *

There was a saying in Bluegrad that death always started with a _cold._

Many deaths in Bluegrad started with weak strings of coughing, which further developed to high fever, a sign of simple common cold. But Bluegrad's harsh climate had been unforgivable towards the weak, and the people who caught such simple cold would have their condition worsened so bad that it might kill them in their sleep. Moreover, medicines were scarce, given how barren the land is, which made them very costly.

In a world where the sun graced his sky, Dégel should not be too worried over such common illness. But he had traded that place of life, the warm sunny plains of Maine, for the knowledge that Bluegrad possessed. Dégel had learned to adapt and deal with this situation, which was why he brought with him lots of herbal medicine on his third visit since forever. Dégel did not forget making a mental note to bring supplies more often, seeing how isolated the city was due to its extreme weather.

During his fourth visit, the first time in which he journeyed from the Sanctuary as the Aquarius saint, he made an effort to bring in lots of wonderful delicacies, from the sweetness of Turkish delights to the spiciness of the east-indian seasonings. By then, Dégel earned the name as the traveler who brought them, the people of Bluegrad, the world. The young Aquarius saint never bathed in that title, preferring to grace his second family with his love and care; they could have refused his request to stay the first time he arrived in that city, but they still had the heart to include him in their little family. He remembered whenever he looked at them—at his friend who became more like a brother, at the princess whom he grew to think of as an older sister figure—and they would smile in reply despite the coldness that silently crept under their draping, an icy storm razing their stalwart city.

In that same visit, he remembered his sister, Seraphina of Garcia, telling him of her excitement over the opportunity to meet with other lords and ladies from various countries and the prospect of having him as her escort. He recalled how, in-between their conversation, she energetically told him of her plans to open trade between Bluegrad and other countries, with the city offering the best knowledge they have about the world, and perhaps beyond, before stopping altogether in fervent coughing. Her sudden outburst prompted him to force her into bed rest.

He remembered the dread haunting his mind whenever his sister flashed him a secretive smile, her coughing worsening as the harshness of Bluegrad’s everlasting winter deteriorated her health, his own feeling when the doctor unconvincingly told him that the cold would _pass--_ that it was alright for him to leave and fulfill a summon from Sanctuary which he received the night before Seraphina's medical discovery.He remembered how he heavy-heartedly left her—his family—to fulfill his duty, with the words of that doctor gnawing at each thought he seemed to create.

Six months passed before his next visit.

As he stepped upon the gate of Bluegrad, marking his fifth visit in the city, the saying haunted him like a wailing ghost—foul whispers that spoke of his inner demons, of death and peace, that he simply ignored, because his sister _did not die that day_. After all, he kept on receiving letters from his dear sister even after months of leave.

In that moment, he truly believed that men made their own fate, and there would always be hope despite the direst circumstance—for a cold that does not end in death.

One must always be wary of words, be it written or said, for they can change a man—just like how a single letter changed his life.

If he were Kardia, Dégel would have punched the wall of his chamber. But he still had finesse, and one as smart as him knew well that there was not much to be achieved if one could not control their emotion. So the Aquarius saint settled for sitting on his chair, his right hand trembling as it grasped upon the three worn sheets of paper in his hand. The curves of Unity’s handwriting were sloppier than he remembered, but he knew it was Unity's and no one else. The letters were as old as _two years_ , just right after he was assigned as a _field saint with no spare time to even read his favorite book_.

Unity's sloppy handwriting bothered him. When his eyes reached the end of the letter, Dégel understands perfectly _why_.

Dazed, he quickly rose from his seat, his heart working to compartmentalize his emotion so that his head may clear. Dégel did not forget to put back the letters on the table, before rushing away towards the uppermost temple in the Sanctuary—where the Pope was, where his only hope reigned.

Unity’s words keep echoing on in his mind, while the words are engraved in his memory:

_Dear Dégel,_

_It has been a long time, my brother. How fares the Sanctuary? I still hope that you are still looking after yourself. Goddess knows how you can be so obstinate sometimes whenever there is a crisis somewhere. But I suppose that is partially our fault. After all, we are the ones who instill that obstinacy in your head._ _Admit it,_ _that Garcian pride grows on you too._

 _Bluegrad is… well, cold, I suppose. The winds are picking the pace, despite being in summertime. Father_ did _mention that the frantic weather may have been caused by rising evil stars everywhere. But it is not something we cannot handle—at least, not specter-level emergency—so you have nothing to worry about._

_Though we really wish you can come and visit._

_Ever since your last visit here—and don’t forget, that is over three years ago. Unlike you, I_ do _keep track of time—many things have changed. Other countries are becoming interested in the prospects of cross-cultural studies. It is truly all thanks to you and Seraphina’s display not too long ago. As you know, as long as there is interaction, there is still a chance for Bluegrad to blossom in this freezing land. Both of your efforts have cemented that path. It’s like we’re giving them hope, you know? You’ll know what I mean when you see Bluegrad in your next visit._

_So, when are you going to visit? I look forward to your reply—but really, it feels best if you do not reply at all and just return here. We have so many things better conversed in place, rather than putting words on such a frail paper._

_But please, give us our best regards to the Pope, alright?_

 

_UG_

...

Another letter of his looked approximately like this:

_Dear Dégel,_

_How have you been? I hope my previous letter reach you, though if you have not… it does not matter. It is important, however, for you to pass along the information enclosed in this letter to the Pope after you finish reading._

_We have found a secret entrance to Atlantis, Poseidon’s ancient city._

_While I understand that the Blue Warriors have been guarding Bluegrad due to its vital connection in the previous war against Poseidon, I never even begin to imagine that Bluegrad was once_ his _fortress in this land. This revelation has been lost in the annals of history, but it clearly explains the Blue Warriors’ origins—and also the reason why Athena of olden ages took utmost precaution to guard this place._

_As one of few places that connects Poseidon’s city with the realm of humans, Bluegrad serves as a good place for Mariners, Poseidon’s personal army, to hide and gather their power, biding their time in order to invade the land; while land-dwellers like us have little to no immunity against the harsh cold everlasting winter of Siberia, Poseidon’s Mariners have guarded against this kind of hardship in all their lives. Living under the seas for indefinite time will do that anyone, I suppose._

_At the moment, we are working to contain the passage. As you can see, the seal of Athena has weakened over time, which is why I hope that Sanctuary is able to send reinforcement—perhaps those who are well-versed in Ancient Greek and Phoenician, so that these relics can be studied further._

_I have sent with you several sketches of symbols, passages, and writings that are found near the gate, hoping that someone in the Sanctuary is able to interpret the meaning and take action as appropriate._

_We await for your reply, brother. Thank you._

 

_UG_

.

 

He remembers the Ancient Phoenician scribbles in the last page of his letters, as well as sketches of the gate with Poseidon’s glorified trisula etched as a trademark. Each alphabet was a grim reminder that Poseidon's army was capable of sophisticated intelligence. It showed in the extent of their effort to switch languages to communicate with each other so that they may _conceal_ their information from the enemies. Gods knew what their ancient enemies were trying to hide. Whatever it was, his gut stirred in wakes of bad premonition—of loss, death, and _drowning_.

But he recognized the words at the end of Unity’s letters, which may as well spell the doom of that city:

_—shall bring storm upon thee and deliver us salvation._

_—glory to the Sea Lord_.

To say that he had a bad feeling is an understatement of the century.

* * *

Unity hasdsent many letters, told stories, and spoken of news in Bluegrad. It was part of his duty to maintain contact between Sanctuary and Bluegrad, ever since both party discover that Bluegrad may have conceal more important secrets than they already know. But of all letters that he sent, there was one letter that never arrived at the Sanctuary—one letter that never saw the light of the day, only because the messenger was killed in line of duty by Specters.

The messenger never came back, which was news by itself: a strict message for the people of Bluegrad to stay vigilant in face of the impending Holy War versus Hades’ army. By then, messages were delivered personally and in teams (because they could not rely on couriers alone; it was far safer to send some Blue Warriors to act as emissaries as well as message deliverymen).

By the time the arrangements were executed, however, Unity was already dead—because whatever kindness remaining in his heart might as well died under the weight of Siberian snow, in the last of his written letter to his brother. He had died, his carcass taking out the only blood-related family left without remorse as he praised Poseidon’s name over and over reverently, like a mad fanatic.

Supposedly, if that messenger never died—if he was able to reach the Sanctuary in time—Dégel would probably read this in his letter, complete with his even sloppier handwriting:

_Dear Dégel,_

_It is with great sadness I have to tell you: Seraphina—our beloved sister—has passed._

_I… am so sorry that I have to break this news to you in this letter. As much as I want to tell you myself, I and the Blue Warriors have been spread thin organizing disaster relief all over Bluegrad. Ever since our discovery of the secret pathway to the city underwater, the storms had grown harsher. And with such climate, defending ourselves against recent pestilence becomes almost impossible. Most of the elders have already passed due to severe illness… and there is not much with could do._

_Sometimes I wonder if this is one of Poseidon’s curse… but we cannot know for sure. Sanctuary has yet to send us reinforcements—which I understand quite perfectly. Even here, we could see the shadows that the Lost Canvas cast on the sky, not to mention the number of evil stars rising alongside our own. I could only imagine how spread thin the army is. I understand that if I ask you to return, if not for a moment, you will most likely have to disobey one of the orders given by the Pope to you._

_Yet here in my letter, I implore you, brother… please come back home, if not for the sake of Bluegrad, then for hers—do this before death knocks, because I cannot bear to face my sister with your death in my conscience._

_UG_

* * *

What Unity never knows is that the messenger _survived_ , along with his intended letter.

The man was lucky enough to be found alive in the outskirt of Sanctuary. The circumstance of his rescue is even more peculiar, with the last thing he could remember is _drowning_ before waking up in a cozy house somewhere with subtropical climate. Said man never returned not because he was killed, but rather because he had no recollection of what he should have been doing.

It was purely by chance that Sagittarius Sisyphus noticed the messenger’s out-of-sorts attire when he was on his return to Sanctuary. The man is quite knowledgeable in the cultures of many places in the world, and seeing Bluegrad’s attire only strengthened his hunch to bring the messenger to Sanctuary.

The letter is neatly packed with the other two—and the content is what drove him to ask for the Pope’s permission to go to Bluegrad, despite their already in-a-pinch circumstance. But Sage, ever-wise Pope Sage, softly declined his request, claiming that he had another task ready for him—a surveillance task at the foot of Ural mountain range.

Dégel felt himself cold all over as he bowed respectfully, his body functioning on auto-pilot. The Pope told him to prepare himself to go to his intended destination. Again, Dégel agreed mutely, before requesting permission to excuse himself. He needed his _reprieve,_ to collect his emotion under the guise of indifference and obedience.

Sage knew. He looked at him pityingly with remorse and said, “I am so very sorry for this, Dégel.”

Dégel nodded and turned, the icy shield surrounding his heart which held  him together crumbling with every step he took  to leave that place.

* * *

The following morning, he went off without telling any one of his true intention. His very decision to go against the Pope’s words would become the first of his many mistakes that he'd eventually regret. But at the moment, the only thing that mattered in his mind was the family he grew to love and care.

Ural mountain range can wait.


	2. The Journey We Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he were in the street, not having to deal with aristocratic hypocrisy and mindless guests, he would have screeched and pull a ' _what do you not understand about refusal damn it_ ' glare. But Madame Garnet has already reached for his hand, locking their fingers together, trapping him; any tries to let go will attract negative attention that can damage the reputation of Sanctuary.
> 
> That is the main reason why Kardia detests this kind of mission.

* * *

**[rewind]**

* * *

 

Sage has been referred as many things, but a fool is never one of them.

As the person who mentors the Aquarius Saint ever since he was just a boy, he knows enough that Dégel will forever put his family first before the Sanctuary, to put it crudely. It is not that the young saint is incapable of pulling hard decisions that involve the well-being of the Sanctuary, but between a side quest and his family, Sage knows well enough that the young man will make way and choose both. The man is innovative, but such quality is a given for the wisest gold saint in this century. Yet, while he may have confidence in his ability and judgements, Sage still feels a contingency plan must remain in place.

"So let me get this straight, Pope Sage," the galled voice of the Scorpio Saint resounds in the relatively empty Pope chamber, "you want me to follow Dégel on a mission which, may I add, you have assigned to him despite his current _emotional_ condition."

The words are said in a tone that should have been insulting for a person of his caliber, but Sage is too old to care the antics of rascal like this man. He knows how rude Scorpio Kardia can be, for he has watched over his boy ever since he came under his teaching. He settles with a ‘do-not-test-my-temper-boy’ glare and a gracefully sarcastic twitch of eyebrow at said boy (because Kardia will forever be a boy in front of him; it is the privilege of an elder). "That is perfectly what I mean, Kardia."

He can (and will) keep up his sarcastic, defiant glare despite his old age, just to prove his point. Gods know how terrible Kardia could be, and this is coming from Manigoldo’s teacher, whose name literally means rascal.

The blue haired man doesn't even twitch at his glare. His blue eyes only stared back defiantly—almost accusing—as he growled, "the hell, old man! I do not understand your reason to send him in another mission when he is still fucking _grieving._ If anything, you should have just sent him back to his hometown, while I deal with your little menace in the mountains."

"Which is certainly a mistake in my judgment—one that I seek to correct," the Pope replied swiftly, though his lack of regret contradicts his words; it is as if the man still has other tricks under his sleeve (which he usually does). Kardia groans even further and pinches the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. In a degree, it surprises him how unwilling the Scorpio is given the current situation. With the secret crush he has harboured since both of them were kids, Sage expects the man to be more acquiescent with the whole ordeal.

(He was there as their mentor when Kardia offered the other boy tidbits of his affections. Sometimes they were secret glances, other times solitary book which he dropped anonymously at Dégel’s vicinity. Sage remembered how puzzled Dégel was of the latter, and how amused himself was when said boy failed to deduce his secret admirer.

While the gifts have stopped, the secret glances never do.)

"And your idea is to send me on a follow-up mission, despite the emergency status of Sanctuary, which requires top brass warriors—like me—to standby in case Hades decides to show up again?" He inquires again, more like an attempt to make the Pope understand how ridiculous he is being. After all, despite his situation, Dégel is a _freaking_ gold saint of Athena. He should be able to take care of himself.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he replies curtly, his intense glare never leaves the slowly worn out man before him. Silence falls, if not for a moment, before Kardia’s shoulders slump, the owner grumbling under his breath because, really, can he even refuse an order from the man who has taken care of him?

Sage clears his throat and continues, "you are to go after Aquarius Dégel and assist him in his investigation surrounding anomaly in the city of Kirovsgrad, just at the feet of Ural mountain ranges. Should he not be in his supposed track," he notices how Kardia's eyes glints dangerously, as if daring the Pope to issue warrant for his secret crush, and ignores it thoroughly.

(When will this _boy_ understand that even he can not apprehend the person in question without proper evidences?)

"You are to proceed with your investigation and continue your journey to Bluegrad," he pauses, his stern gaze still lingers, as if waiting for any rebuke. Hearing none despite Kardia’s apparent grumbling, the Pope turns. “You can leave by tomorrow dawn, Kardia.”

* * *

It is the first time in his life when he steps upon the gate of Bluegrad with terror gripping his heart.

The sight before him is nothing like the Bluegrad that he remembers. What used to be many buildings in organised lines are now rubbles buried in snow. Roads are thickly covered under it, which are usually normal in the city. But given the thickness of the snow and visible gnawing holes present in several places, Dégel knows enough that no one bother to keep maintenance going. The wind is harsher than what he remembers, and the coldness almost cripples his sense, if not for his clever manipulation of cosmo.

He does not take another breath to rush in, the pounding of his heart obscures any raging storm surrounding himself. The Aquarius Saint ventures further into the heart heart of the city, wincing whenever he passes familiar buildings—the playground where they usually gathered back in those lost days, the deserted alleyway where they played cat-and-mouse, the bakery that was more often closed than opened, and so many other places. Each of them tears another scar somewhere in his heart, with each visible rubble a potent reminder of his absence when the calamity strikes.

Before he knows it, his feet bring him to the front of Unity's home. Compared to he crumbling building which he passes, his brother's settlement suffers less damages, with only thick snow on the roof that threatens to bring the whole house down. Nevertheless, the place retains its antiquity in the middle of the barren land. Dégel wastes no time and enters through the front door—

"FREEZE."

It would have been funny if they were not in the _icy_ city of Bluegrad.

The voices of three men prompts him to stop and turn around, if only to have better view of his interceptors. The three of them wear armor with designs similar to that of those used by the soldiers of sanctuary, but with different hue. Draped around their respective armor is a white worn-out cape, which is more than appropriate disguise to blend in with the never-ending snow plains. Dégel also senses an inkling force of cosmo from the three of them. It does not take him long to piece together that they are the Blue Warriors.

Thinking that the ones sensing him are older, way older than himself, makes him worried. What happens to the younger warriors?

"I am Aquarius Dégel of Sanctuary," he starts, this time in Russian in hopes for some familiarity. Silently, he also prays that he still possesses that Bluegrad accent in attempt to smoothen their communication. "I have received an urgent message from Unity son of Garcia," _my brother_ , he mentally adds, "that Bluegrad needs assistance in uncovering and analysing long-lost Atlantean relics."

The warriors seems to relent when they hear his name, their posture finally becomes less alert as though they have just recognised a long lost friend. The man in the middle is the first to pull of his concealing headgear, revealing the face of a middle-aged man with thin moustache. The man still looks at him closely, and Dégel wonders whether the puzzles have clicked as the man's green eyes lit in realisation.

He never boasts of his accomplishment, but Dégel knows for a fact that what he had done for Bluegrad in the past should have left good impression. At least this man should still remember him.

"You are... one of young master's friends," the man breathes, as though he was just faced with a ghost. He issues another order in Russian (Dégel loosely catch 'he's a friend' in those spoken Russian, though the rest of those words remain unintelligible on his ear), and almost promptly, the rest of them becomes at ease.

Something about the man stirs a sense of familiarity and warmth in his heart and Dégel just knows in his gut that he has encountered this man, at least once. When that man looks at him again, melancholy adorning his look, realisation hits him hard as the identity of the man who secondly cared for him—for _them_ —becomes apparent in his mind.

"Welcome back, master Dégel," the man speaks again in perfect Greek, "master Unity will be ecstatic to see you."

* * *

Kardia, for once, obeys the Pope's suggestion and leaves Sanctuary at dawn. To the old man's credit, he is able to reach Kirovsgrad in two days time without major interferences. Then again, Pope Sage has this ability to foretell many things, though the effectiveness is grossly downgraded where Specters are concerned.

(There are times when he disagrees with the old man's counsel, preferring to go where his gut feeling tells him. Most of the times, they put him in advantageous positions—where he could hunt to his heart's contents—though he always ends up lying on his bed with fever in almost every occasion. Back then, Dégel imposing figure towered over him, his lips forming a perfectly dissatisfied frown as he did his best to kill his fever. But there is no Dégel for now, and Kardia can not risk dying before he finds that ice cube of a saint.)

The town in question hosts not more than few hundred people, who wander around the town trading goods and converses—a city with suspiciously normal life despite the looming Holy war. Even with Lost Canvas looming at the edge of his vision—one scenery that can be viewed anywhere in the city—people are still walking around as if nothing has gone wrong _at all_.

(He has every freaking right to suspect, because even on his way to this city, Kardia witnesses the changes in people's face whenever they see his glinting cloth box—that something very wrong must have happened to bring any gold saint out from their lair. The fact that this dwellers of Kirovsgrad do not even bat an eye when they catch the glimpse of cloth box on his back bothers him.)

And what is this ball that everyone keeps talking about during this time of war?

Kardia is not exaggerating. Despite the size of this city (which is, not even bigger than half of Athens) someone is charitable enough to arrange a masquerade ball. To make it even more suspicious, Kardia can sense faintly that there is some unnatural cosmos surrounding the place where that ball is held. While his detection skill is less superior than his icy companion's, Kardia is willing to bet his money that someone exceptionally strong is inside, pulling tricks that can even fool the city entire.

To his exasperation, the only way to understand what is happening in the city is to enter the ball himself.

Currently stuck in a [formal attire](https://s3.amazonaws.com/ksr/assets/000/390/430/c4c0f34e71129532b7a52d0dc6cbe29f_large.jpg?1360960658) that costs thrice of his monthly living allowance (don't ask how he gets his funding, just don't), Kardia manages to hold back the growls under his breath every time pompous rich pairs make comments about his unruly _blue_ hair (his wavy blue hair is perfectly fine, thank you), or when another woman adorned with headgear bigger than her vanity cut off his walking path and asks him for a dance (to which he refuses, because he is sure the man standing behind one of the ballroom pillars—most likely her husband—is giving him death glares even as he speaks with the woman). Through other sets of refusal, Kardia is able to escape the crowd and finds an empty place just at the corner of the ballroom. It is enough for him to catch his breath and realign his tilted half-face mask. He certainly does not want to blow his cover.

Just when he is able to gain a semblance of peace amidst the bustle, everyone in the room suddenly cheers when the person hosting the ball enters. Some chants for her name—Madame Garnet, they say—as she gracefully descends down the main ladder of the ballroom, her smile bewitching everyone, perhaps making each one of them weak in their knees. But Kardia only glances at her, as though she is just another woman in glamorous attire—another aristocrat with tendencies for lavish gifts.

When he looks at her more thoroughly, however, his instinct _screams_.

She looks back at him before he is able to feign ignorance. Her glance lingers, as if she is trying to decide what to do with her discovery, before she approaches him, refusing every hand that has been offered to her for a dance with a gentle voice, and, to his surprise, offers hers to him.

"You seem lost in this ball, _k_ _ý_ _rios_ ," she speaks gently in Greek with French accent—a french woman estranged in this Russian land. How she manages to guess what his mother language slips his mind. “Though I suppose this is how you attract attention of women, by standing all mysterious at the corner of the hall?"

Kardia blinks, then snorts softly. Her last comment certainly catches him off-guard.

" _Au contraire_ ," he replies lightly, starting with the only french words he knows of just because of Dégel's constant use to prove his point, before proceeding with his Greek, "I simply can not dance, my lady. Therefore, I am so sorry if I assume too much, I have to kindly refuse your offer for dance, should you ask me."

If Dégel was there, he must have laughed over his failing effort to display proper courtesy. Kardia himself is already throwing up in his mouth, figuratively speaking, for doing the things he loathe. It is simpler when he is out in the field, with battle stance as the only language that speaks.

The lady seems to be taken aback by his refusal. Her face contorts from that of surprised, to amused, before finally settling back to her former smile. This time, there is a certain glee twinkling in her eyes, which unsettles him. "A gentleman _and_ a seer!"

Kardia winces, because it doesn't matter if Garnet speaks of him softly like that... the words still reek of insult; the hardest thing for him to do about that is not to react, and it _agonises_ him.

"If you cannot dance, dear _k_ _ý_ _rios,_ can I interest you in a quick lesson? It will be fun, I assure you."

If he were in the street, not having to deal with aristocratic hypocrisy and mindless guests, he would have screeched and pull a ' _what do you not understand about refusal damn it_ ' glare. But Madame Garnet has already reached for his hand, locking their fingers together, trapping him; any tries to let go will attract negative attention that can damage the reputation of Sanctuary.

That is the main reason why he detests this kind of mission.

"...I suppose one dance wouldn't hurt anyone," he forces his face to smile after trying so hard to hold back curses; Kardia can not see any avenues to slip away _without_ tarnishing Sanctuary’s name. _Might as well get this over with._

He let himself be led to the centre of the ballroom, feeling the eyes of every person in that place on him as if he has just stolen their most precious thing. But the Scorpio Saint promptly ignores their envious glares as his instinct tugs back at the back of his mind _again_ , as if a personal problem-detector. At that single moment when both of them are about to dance, he swears that he feels a fleeting breeze of cold, like a prelude to winter—and it explains to him one important thing: Dégel _is_ here, _somewhere_.

Madame Garnet glances at him earnestly, and his instinct screams _about her_ —something about this woman who offers to be his dance partner— _that has rubbed him all the wrong way._

"Shall we dance, _k_ _ý_ _rios_?"

Kardia looks at her again as he extends his cosmo as fine as possible, following where his instinct brings him to see that this woman might as well be the anomaly that the Pope has been searching for—the prey whom he is supposed to decapitate. How he misses the fact that this woman possesses incredible cosmo, which she hides quite adeptly, makes him flinch (and he should be better than to display his emotion right in front of his suspicious dance partner). The lady smirks, as if she has just uncovered a layer of secret which he tries so hard to hide, and raises both of their hands as the first melody begins. First step, second step, third step....

He supposes he should play along for now, not because he needs information, rather because his instinct kicks in. If anything, he trust it—and it tells him to wait and see, to observe and pay attention, to bide his time as a hunter should.

* * *

What Kardia fails to notice is that the owner of that fleeting breeze has been secretly observing him, from the high place where he conducts his symphony, the weight of his years wearing down his gaze as he wishes for that man to _not be there_ . After all, much like his disciple, Koh-i-nur Krest dislikes complications. Scorpio Kardia’s presence is a sign that everything will turn around— _for the worst._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *) kýrios = greek equivalent to mister
> 
> There's a reason why Garnet and Co. is around Russia instead of being in France. Hopefully, the reason will become clear in further chapters. :")


	3. The Mistakes We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You... you are back."
> 
> There is a hollowness that taints his voice that is never meant to be there—a brokenness that makes part of him churning, because he is also guilty for not being with his brother to pick up the pieces. Now Unity is standing there, still anguished despite his cold bravado, still looking at him as though he is just an apparition. Dégel swallows his bitterness and smiles, his hands pulling Unity's frame for a long due hug.
> 
> "I am home, brother. I am home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is not beta'd. Any misspells or word-incoherence are on me, so don't hesitate to point that out. On my defense, I'm writing this in the middle of the night (the only time I could write sanely), so... yeah.
> 
> I blame Kingdom Hearts: [Birth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NytOZx5B4fM) by [Sleep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvSD6wUXAIc) OST and [this piece of music from Legend of Korra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbK4skSdpj0) for any broken feels. It is recommended for you to read this while listening to those. Happy reading.

**[in the near future]**

Never in his life has Dégel thought of entering the city of his childhood with much nervousness. While it lacks the harsh snowstorm for the moment, there is a sense of loss that lingers in every rubble that he passes. Dégel is aware that his inaction leads this destruction—this calamity—to Bluegrad. If only he had received those letters, if only he had gone to the city quicker, if only he was stronger to prevent it—there are so many ifs spinning inside his head. Whenever they remind him of his failure, Dégel will stop in the middle of those ruins with his head held low as he murmurs under his breath his wilful wish. Whenever he does that, Kardia will dutifully stand behind him, close enough to announce his proximity but still maintain their personal space, and let him have his peace. But when Dégel pauses for too long to his liking, he will move to close their distance and  _gently_  pat the Aquarius shoulder pad.

(Kardia is known for his brutality and sadism, but never gentleness. Even towards him, the only person with the ability to tame that fire, Kardia has always been brash, impulsive, and rude to unbelievable degree. It puzzles him to great depth why his best friend acts contrary to his reputation—to the image that he erects.)

For the third time during their trip inside the city, Kardia finally breaks his musing and sneaks closer. But his hand never reaches for that same place to shake him from his reverie. Instead, he stoically stands by his side with both of his hands folded, his blue eyes boring at him accusingly.

“How many times will you stop until you realize that it's not your freaking fault?" He exclaims with exasperation, "it is not your fault that the message did not reach you in time, nor is the curse of Poseidon that fell upon this land when your old friend tampers with their technology. If anything, the blame falls solely on that man."

Dégel feels how his blood freezes at Kardia's remark, the image of his kind brother filling his mind, from how he laughs at his frosty joke to how he sees his sister protectively whenever they're together. The image of Unity trying to save his city… the life he risks to save his friend,  _him_ , despite being an ordinary man… he cannot reconcile such images with his state of mind.

(At least not now.)

"How can you blame someone who has no idea of what he's doing?" He replies coldly, "how can you say the blame is only on his shoulder, when the one person who should have been there to prevent this tragedy was somewhere else _doing other_   _pressing matters_?"

Dégel says those last two words with such spite that makes the Scorpio's glare intensifies. Perhaps the Scorpio saint is baffled by his emotional rebuke, Dégel cannot say. But said Scorpio saint is certainly not done with that conversation, as Kardia shoves him (and Dégel does not see that coming), his face showing a kind of fury which he has never seen.

(No, he has seen that righteous fury several times when they were still apprentices, when one of the trainees pick a fight against him, while Kardia takes it as an offense against himself. The gesture is quite endearing, best friends and all, despite the fact that Dégel is capable of defending himself. Dégel has never been on the receiving end of that righteous fury though, until now.)

"Are you  _seriously_  blaming the Pope for something  _this_ out of your control? What the hell, Dégel, I thought you're better than this!"

And Kardia is right. He should be better than lashing out in his grief; but the only that matters to him is that unending guilt that keeps pushing him to move forward... though not without cursing the unfairness of it all.

"I don't blame the Pope," he replies hoarsely, his emotion welling up under the icy grip of his emotional control. His mind cannot compartmentalize his feelings fast enough to keep up with his growing despair. "But this destruction, Kardia... can you not see that this is the price I must pay for my inaction?"

There is a sense of shame in acknowledging his breaking point to the person who always has his back but never his _complete_ faith. The truth is, in reality, Dégel has always kept Kardia at arm’s length; it shows in how closed off he is about his personal history, or how professional he is towards said Scorpio saint. That alone is what drives him to lower his gaze. He feels he has enough exposure with this decision alone: to impart this bit of truth that has resided within him, eating him from the inside.

Degel can only trust this man as a comrade; he can never trust this man to watch over his life.

(That position is especially reserved to the family that has accepted him before he became a saint of Athena—the position whose owners' blood are on his hands.)

"Fine _,_ " the other breathes in slowly, as if he is trying to quell any misplaced anger that shows in his face. It does not fully diminish his exasperation, though. " _Fine._  If you really think that this whole ordeal it's your freaking fault, then stop  _moping_  and take responsibility!"

Dégel jerks his head, his lilac-coloured eyes searching for his blue, trying to determine the meaning of his words. Is he reprimanding his action? Has he understood the sins that he has committed? But Kardia only glares at him still, with folded arms and condescending expression. However, Dégel does not miss the empathy that lingers behind his disdain.

(Kardia does not do empathy. Perhaps he is just imagining things.)

Kardia is still waiting for his words.

"...I suppose you can be right once in a while," he manages a sigh, to which the other beams defiantly. The sound of Kardia's voice keeps on repeating in his mind; he has to take responsibility for his action... starting by finding a way to retrieve the fabled Orihalcon.

After all, with Unity's death, the means to unlock the secret of Atlantis might as well die with him.

Realizing that they still have many things to do—and little time to do so—Dégel glances at the Scorpio Saint again, hoping that the other understands his resolve. "I am done moping around, as you put it. Shall we go?"

The words may as well pass as a demand, because Dégel does not even wait for the Scorpio Saint to rebuke with some witty remarks. The Aquarius saint simply walks away, the sound of Kardia's exclamations behind him bringing a fleeting smile back to his lips.

There might be blood in his hands, but at least it will not be in vain. There is something that he can do for the sake of Bluegrad.

_He cannot die now. Not yet._

* * *

**[rewind]**

* * *

The halls of Garcia Manor are always relatively quiet, but never as quiet as _now_. Even back in those days, Dégel can still feel life brimming at the edge of the shadows casted by each torchlight—the sound of someone's footsteps at the end of the hallway, the murmurs of housemaid in the corner, or even the growling sound of wind outside as it reverberated within the empty halls. Now every shades of red from those torches seem to glow eerily, as if binding the lives of the previous owners of the building.

As though it has been dead forever.

The warrior whom he encountered previously now stands before Dégel, his back facing him as he leads him through the corridors that have filled his childhood with fond memories. Said man, Servire, was once a butler who managed household chores in the manor, until his son's early demise—along with other unfortunate Bluegrad citizens—drives him to change his occupation.

Servire was the butler who sat by Seraphina's bed when she died. He was the one who gently stood by Unity when his father— _their_  father—passed away. He has been what Dégel could not be, and for that alone, he respects this man.

Both of them finally arrive at the door leading to the study, where Lord Garcia used to be. Just standing there makes his knees buckle; never will he be able to open this door and greet the father figure who brings knowledge to his life. Servire the warrior glances at him with pity for one moment, before knocking on the door as he speaks in that deep baritone voice, "Master Dégel is here, Master Unity."

In that moment, everything feels surreal. Part of him wishes that those pounding heels belong to Garcia, yet the steps are too light, the tempo of his steps too quick, and the way he opens the door too hastily for a man in his fifties—

Dégel holds his breath as the door opens, revealing his long-time friend standing just in front of him. He has grown a few inches, catching up to himself since the last time they met. Some strains of his hair have grown longer, while the bangs covering part of his face are trimmed neater than the last time they saw each other. Gone is the young regent of Bluegrad, leaving a seasoned leader in its wake.

Unity looks at him as if he were an illusion. Dégel quickly makes the move, reaching for his brother's shoulder to shake his uncertainty away. He sees how that silver eyes narrow at him, feels how his hand slowly reaches for Dègel’s own, senses how his whole body trembles.

"You... you are back."

There is a hollowness that taints his voice that is never meant to be  _there_ —a brokenness that makes part of him churning, because he is also guilty for not being with his brother to pick up the pieces. Now Unity is standing there, still anguished despite his cold bravado, still looking at him as though he is just an apparition. Dégel swallows his bitterness and smiles, his hands pulling Unity's frame for a long due hug.

"I am home, brother. I am home."

* * *

Dégel notices that there is something... off about Unity.

It is in the way he explains neutrally of Bluegrad's current condition, in his wistful smile during their talk about their childhood, in his  _almost_  regretful tone when they talk about other nation's stance regarding their hometown. The formal words that have been exchanged between them feel like pellets being thrown to _push him away_. Though Dégel  does not sense any malice in his words, he can feel Unity's attempt to put distance between them, as though they are the representatives of others first before they are brothers.

(Or perhaps there are things that Unity must keep as a secret. It saddens him how he will not be Unity's secret keeper anymore. Yet when he thinks of how mature the man has grown to, Dégel knows the trade-off is worth it.)

Dégel sees the weariness in his gaze as another silence falls again. He does not fail to notice that, of all conversations that they have traded, none of them refers to Seraphina or Garcia. Not one of them speaks of what becomes of the family which has welcomed Dégel with open air. Dégel himself knows the risk of prodding a healing wound, yet his own heart may bleed out without clear story and understanding.

Both of them are part of his little world. Dégel feels like he has the right to know.

"I am so sorry for my absence," Dégel started as he lowered his gaze in regret. Driven by his mistake alone, Dégel dares not to lock gaze with his brother’s. He heard rustles of fabric and soft steps of Unity's boots as said man moved away to sit by the window, his gaze lingering just outside where snowstorm razes. The Aquarius saint still does not dare to look at his brother, for he knows Seraphina's grave is by the snow-filled courtyard, his mind perhaps wandering into the days where everything is still _sunny_.

But the words that he want to speak continue to flow, and Dégel complies with his heart's desire to speak and apologize. "I was supposed to be here when they passed away."

There is another deep breath, before the Lord of Bluegrad replies softly, "Dégel, please, do not blame yourself. There was nothing you could do then. Seraphina's failing health had worsened much by the time I wrote that letter to you,” he stops and takes a deep breath to calm himself, “If anything... I should have notified you sooner."

"That doesn't excuse me for not returning when Lord Garcia passed away," Dégel  turns his attention solely to his brother, urging the other to blame him, if only to prevent said brother from blaming himself. He knows that crushing guilt, for it weighs heavily on his mind even now.

Yet Unity turns to him, his silver eyes contemplative, as he mutters, "true."

(Part of him—the part that is not blaming himself, the part which puts his loyalty to Athena first and foremost—screams at that small accusation. To be fair, the news about Garcia's death does not reach his ears until his arrival at the Sanctuary. When the tragedy fell, he was doing his duty as a saint of Athena.)

Those silver eyes makes him flinches internally, but Dégel keeps his gaze level just to express his regret. Perhaps they are gauging Dègel’s reaction. Whatever he is trying to do, eventually Unity closes his eyes in acceptance, "but that moment has passed. It is more important to think about what we must do now... and in the future."

Dégel nods stiffly, still maintaining silence on his part and knowing that his brother has more things to say. "I am more concerned with the calamity that had fallen into Bluegrad, these days. It may or may not bit related to our recent discoveries under the great library, which is why it is important for us to study it further. Will you help me?"

Perhaps the better question for Dégel is this:  _can he even refuse that plea_?

"It is for that reason that I'm here."

_Of course not._

* * *

Dégel never remembers the underground library being  _damp._

The underground library of Bluegrad houses many types of archives from across the world, from log journals of western travellers written in papyrus to important messages in stone tablets. It is precisely because of such reason that keeping the place dry becomes top priority. The Aquarian warily glances at the brother by his side, though the other does not seem to notice as they continue their trek through hundreds of ancient bookshelves. The further they go, the more humid—and  _saline—_ the air gets. It only confirms his suspicion that they are faced against Poseidon-related problem.

Their long trek finally reaches to an end when they arrive at the furthermost part of the corridor—a wooden door with seal of Athena. Dégel notes several books that are splayed everywhere, as if a hurricane has swept through. He saw nothing of the writings that are described in Unity's letters, which only made him more confused. "It is beyond that door, isn't it?"

Unity give a little nod and releases the seal. For one moment, Dégel thinks the place was quickly surrounded with water, before realizing that it is only a wave of cosmo that does not belong to either him or Unity. His brother pauses for a moment, just like him, and steals a glance of understanding at him, to silently say to Dégel this: 'no, this has never happened before, and I have no idea what will happen if I do open the door  _now_.'

The Aquarian simply nods and follows behind, a simple reassurance that speaks of protection. Nodding, Unity pushes the wooden door open.

Standing beyond that wooden door is a metallic wall. Seals of Athena are scattered disorderly, like a net spread over the bodice (because he knows those seals are there to contain  _something extraordinary_ ). From each seal, he could sense a strong presence trying to break free, strong pulses of cosmo wave that might as well be the cause of changes in the air. In this place, it smells no less than saline, rather more like someone has flooded the entire room with sea water, leaves it to dry, and let the briny taste lingers.

"...It was not this  _briny_ during our last visit here," Unity mutters as he steps inside to check on the books just right to where they stand, "no one has entered this place either, so everything should be as it was..."

Dégel eventually follows inside, his pause merely a spent time to observe and feel. The gears inside his mind whir as he collect sorts everything he sees and hears. If what Unity says were true, then the only possible explanation is something from  _another place_ must be trying to break free.

At worst, it may be Poseidon.

Such possibility makes his stomach churns, yet it drives him to search for other avenues to solve this problem. Dègel’s eyes quickly searches for the writings etched on the wall—the one that Unity has described previously in his letters—and quickly goes for his brother again. Unity shifts in his presence, but he regards him; that silver eyes mean business after all.

"All of these books," Dégel gestures the books in the small room, "are written in Phoenician, aren't they?" he asks, to which the other simply nod, "good. I'll need some books to do cross-reference with the messages. I would feel more comfortable if we know first what we are facing."

"Then I shall gather you the books that have similar written words with the ones on the wall," the silver-haired man replies, to which the Aquarian only blinks owlishly. Unity only grins as he gathers the books in question within his arm’s length. 

"I've already done what I can, Dégel. What we lack is... well, a man with Phoenician knowledge," he lightly put several books on Dègel’s hand, his small grin slowly turning to a teasing smirk, "I remember a certain someone was so engrossed with his linguistic study that he just had to bring up the topic during dinner time. Father was not pleased."

Dégel puts the books and snorts, "I remember you and your amazing devotion to history and literature. Your story-telling skill was so surreal that I'm sure you've put Lady Seraphina to sleep every time you did it."

Unity's eyebrow twitches, his hands slowly putting another batch of books on the table, "at least I did not warrant any disfavour from father. Really, Dégel, lessons during meal time? What drove you to do that lunacy is beyond me."

"Well," Dégel pulls out a chair and idly starts opening the top book, the first page displaying neat Phoenician writing. Most of the words are still gibberish to him. "Lady Seraphina always did that, so I must say... I learned from the best."

"Are you trying to imply that our late sister is  _a rebel_?"

"When was she  _ever_ not?"

At that single moment, Unity's amused expression turns wistful. "...Touché. She always did the opposite of what father would have wanted."

“Not all, though, and I won’t elaborate,” Dégel lets out a smug snort. Part of him is happy that he can still experience such light banters with his brother. It is proof that not much have changed between both of them, despite what strives they have endured in the past. Feeling much relieved with such comforting thought, he finally focuses his attention on the words written in his first book. "This will take a while, Unity."

"And it will be worth the wait," Unity simply replies back, "I will take another look at the messages written on the wall."

* * *

Silence easily reigns the room, with Dégel focusing on his work and Unity waiting idly. Sometimes the silver-haired man would look at the entrance, as if expecting for someone to appear (Dégel knows; despite his intensity in reliving his Phoenician linguistic skills, he is much worried about Unity to begin with). 

Dègel’s writing hand nimbly moves from one word to another, the feather pen in his hand dancing in Grecian words over his paper. When he is done, he is quite surprised that it only takes him less than an hour to finish the whole job. "It is done."

Unity seems to perk from the edge of the room, his feet quickly bringing him to the saint, "what does it say?"

"The metallic wall, or rather, _door_... it is a transport tool imbued with Poseidon's blessings," Dégel responds and stalks at the metallic wall contemplatively, his mind thinking of the risks and possibilities of this new discovery, "while it is not explicitly explained how to operate the tool or whether the energy inside it can be harnessed, we can safely assume that it is still within the safe confinement of Athena's seals. Also, the message explains that the harsher climate of Bluegrad nowadays is 'part of Poseidon's blessing' as well."

As if on his cue, the slumbering power confined within those seals pulses. In that moment, Dègel’s entire being froze, his mind cursing their luck. The metallic door that has been dormant from the first time they step foot into the room is now glowing with deep bluish light. Permeating sea salt odor stings his sense of smell, but his sixth sense recognizes the rumbling waves of powerful cosmo beneath those seals as it tries to break free harder than before.

That net of seals will break; this, he knows, will be a fact. Dégel can sense the old power coursing in those talismans, but even Athena's blessings have limits if contended against other god's might. The only way to preserve the seal, he thinks, is to let some of the power out and then re-seal it before it can cause further destruction.

That means he'll be needing Unity's help (one simply does not unseal and reseal this _alone_ ), which leads to exposing him to further dangers.

 _Shit_.

"What's happening? Dégel,  _talk to me._ "

For a moment, Unity's words rings like a thunder that cut through his panic. Lilac eyes meets silver (much like Seraphina, much like Garcia), and in that moment, Dégel is able to stop and breathe.

"Those seals are there to prevent this kind of  _glitch_  from happening. Over time, its strength weakens. If we leave it as is, the seal will break... and Bluegrad will..." Dégel dares not to complete his words, seeing how Unity's frame straightens. 

"And a way to fix this?"

"We open part of the seal, let some of that power out, and then reseal it again."

Unity looks at him warily as if the other has gone crazy, and then asks again, "what will happen to the excess of that power?"

That, Dégel has no answer to, though the thought  _death_  quickly crosses his mind. "I don't know."

Another pulse of cosmo rages again, sending the Aquarian kneeling on the ground. His eyes quickly search for Unity's presence, perhaps somewhere next to him (he is just a mortal man; against this mighty cosmo, he should have been propelled to the nearest wall, at least), only to find said man still standing incredulously before that metal wall. Perhaps the power specifically targets him, which is why Unity is still standing in front of him.

The silver-haired man turns at him, a plaintive look crossing his face as though he is delivering a heartfelt farewell, "you cannot die now, Dégel. Not now."

Dégel knows not when his brother picks the nearest Athena's seal, but he sees with his own eyes how the power unleashed from that tiny crack propels him away. The force of that power is so strong that he can even hear the breaking of Unity's spine as said man hits the wall. He screams, despite his own screaming being swallowed whole by the twister of power, and launches for him, with the only thing coming into his mind is the need to stop this atrocity, so that he may check on Unity's damage. It is solely on that resolution alone that he moves against the current, Athena's talisman in his grip, as he forcefully puts said talisman back to its rightful place.

But the current does not stop.

So he cries desperately, because if his solution cannot stop the power rushing out of this freaking place, then Bluegrad is as good as  _dead_. His beloved city will not survive a climate harsher than it is. There will be no point of Unity risking his life when there is not city to save.

(He cries again. Someone calls for him—a rough voice with strength that he does not recognize. He never gets to answer. 

Or at least, he thinks he never gets to answer.)

The last thing he remember is how that current sweeps him away from that place, his consciousness dangling on the thin thread of life.

* * *

He wakes up on a warm bed, with Kardia lurching over his lower torso, the memory of Unity's smile lingering in his mind, tearing fresh wound in his shocked heart. His first thought is this:  _Unity is dead._

And he breaks.


End file.
